‘To be honest, DC Gorman, I was expecting a more traditional initiation ceremony, like cling film or fingerprint ink on the ladies’ toilet seat. But this poster is so much more revealing . . .’ She paused.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

‘It shows you think you’re a big Hollywood movie star, not a lowly copper working in a dingy office in Leytonstone.’

Some of the detectives chuckled.

‘I’ll take the photo down if you’re that bothered about it,’ he snapped, reaching to remove it.

Jane put a hand on his arm.

‘If it makes you happy, leave it there. Now let me try and guess which one of the Dirty Dozen you are.’ She deliberately paused to make out she was studying the poster and thinking about it. ‘I’m leaning towards the character Charles Bronson played – but I can’t remember his name . . .’

She paused again, knowing the Colonel would answer.

‘Wladislaw,’ he said smugly, clearly pleased she thought he was like Bronson.

‘No, not him, it’s another character I was thinking of.’

‘Who?’

‘Wasn’t one of them a bigot nicknamed Maggott?’

Teflon laughed. ‘Right on, Sarge, he was played by Telly Savalas. Ya man was bald like de Colonel,’ he said in a comic Caribbean accent.

‘Shut up, Teflon – no one asked for your opinion.’ The Colonel scowled.

Teflon shook his head and tutted. ‘You like to dish it out, Colonel, but you can’t take it, can you?’

‘Not when it’s you,’ the Colonel said coldly.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Teflon said, taking a step towards the Colonel to front him out.

The animosity between the two detectives was palpable, and Jane was about to step between them, but Stanley beat her to it and held his hands up to keep them apart.

‘Right, fun’s over. We’ve got a fucking robbery to investigate, where some of our own were nearly killed – so stop pissing about and get on with your work,’ he said in a firm voice.

As the detectives returned to their desks, Stanley took Jane to one side.

‘It was only a bit of fun, the Colonel didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, we all have nicknames and take the piss out of each other, it helps relieve the pressure.’

‘I don’t mind a bit of fun or banter, but if I’m honest it felt a bit demeaning, especially as I’ve already told the Colonel I don’t like being called Treacle.’

‘I didn’t know that—’

‘And if you did would you have stopped him?’

‘Treacle’s not a demeaning term, Jane, it’s just cockney rhyming slang – “treacle tart” . . . sweetheart.’